Sometimes
by jennwrote
Summary: It's because she's a coward. Follows Damon's and Elena's musings. Takes place vaguely after 2x08. Rated T for mild swearing.


**Title:** Sometimes

**Rating: **PG-13 (language)

**Pairing:** Damon/Elena

**Summary:** it's because she's a coward

**Author's Notes:** My first TVD fic, so be nice(r)? And I'm sorry for those who have me on alert for PoP or what not, those drabbles are..inching along. Hope you guys can still enjoy this though. If you're not a Vampire Diaries fan, I suggest you either start watching, or if you just want to read the fic, go for it. Searching "2x08 Damon Elena" on youtube might help with the understanding.

He tries to avoid her bedroom.

It's not like him to avoid anything unless it's a wooden stake or vervain or a werewolf bite – something that has the potential to kill him.

Elena's room sure isn't going to kill him, but he avoids it anyways.

Sometimes he wishes she remembers that night when he poured his soul out to her. Just so he can prove he's not a heartless bastard.

Because he's not heartless. Not anymore.

The only reason he's ever been heartless is because he gave his whole heart away to Katherine and never really got it back. Until that day when Katherine was lounging on his couch, trying to seduce him, and finally uttered that it would always be Stefan. The day when he snapped Jeremy's neck. The day when he started to lose her forever.

He got his heart back in pieces that day. Pieces too small to be rearranged quickly enough to stop him from hurting Jeremy.

He's been spending time meticulously trying to figure out the puzzle of his heart, but he finds it much harder to do when he doesn't have her gentle hands to help him.

Sometimes he wishes that he really didn't have a heart.

He knows that she won't hate him forever. She's too nice for that.

There's a part of him that doubts his knowledge, though. Until she sort of, doesn't, not really, but does reference to the fact that she cares about him. But even then, he realizes his mind could just be playing tricks on him.

But the worst part of it all, is that he knows that he doesn't deserve her friendship.

Sometimes he wishes she would offer her blood to him. Just so he could at least get a taste.

Because he wants at least a part of her. Even if it's a few milliliters.

The only reason he drinks bourbon anymore is because it's _not_ blood. Not anyone's blood. Not her blood. Nothing to remind him of what he can't have. He no longer likes the taste of the stuff. Not since he threw that tumbler into the fireplace after almost killing her brother.

He drowns his sorrow with alcohol and more alcohol. Alcohol that doesn't affect his senses enough anymore.

He's been downing two bottles worth a day, but he makes sure that no one knows just how fast the stuff is disappearing.

Sometimes he wishes his mind didn't turn the bourbon into her blood.

He stops with the comments.

Well, he mostly does. Just because it would be too weird if he dropped the sarcastic and witty commentary completely, he doesn't do that. He still mocks Stefan and teases Alaric and hurl insults at the witch. Yeah, he's still that egotistical jackass with the snide remarks.

He just doesn't direct any of them at her.

Sometimes she wishes he would try to understand her again. Just so she knows at least someone understands.

Because she feels like she's alone. Struggling to find the words to explain what she can't say.

He was the one who knew what she wanted without her having to explain every single part, every single reason. He was the one she could lean on for support. But then she had stupidly walked away, and now her legs were tired, and she can't really find her way back. Except she can, and she knows it. She's just not sure if she wants to try.

So she watches him from the corner of her eye, noting just how few – _zero_ – bantering comments he makes at her, how many empty bottles of bourbon are in the recycling bin on garbage day, how he no longer pays her late-night visits.

And she hides the ache in her chest, and pretends to remain unaffected, wondering why he no longer saw through her facades.

Sometimes she wishes she had the guts to tell him about the vervain tea she had drunk right before his confession.

**AN: Hope you liked it? Comment/review with thoughts. Constructive/non-constructive criticism welcomed!**


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